No arrow can make him flee; slingstones become like stubble to him.
They mock kings, and rulers are a joke to them. They laugh at every fortress and build siege ramps to capture it.
It scoffs at the noise of the village and never hears the shouts of a driver.
He regards iron as straw, and bronze as rotten wood.
A club is regarded as stubble, and he laughs at the sound of a javelin.
The Lord of Armies will defend them. They will consume and conquer with slingstones; they will drink and be rowdy as if with wine. They will be as full as the sprinkling basin, like those at the corners of the altar.